


Rotten Karma

by Lostkid



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, sad stuff idk, the older brother's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostkid/pseuds/Lostkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You pretend it's not your fault, that it was just a joke. No one was meant to get hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rotten Karma

**Author's Note:**

> (I wanna just clarify that I wrote this before Sister Location was released)

_"I don't hate you."_

He doesn't hate his brother. He never did. It might've seemed that way; ripping apart his toys; frightening him until tears overflow, but...but that was supposed to be just _fun_ , he wasn't _meant_ to get hurt. No one was meant to get hurt.

 ~~Gray~~.

The room around him feels small and claustrophobic, even more so that before. Barely bigger than a closet, a bed and a dresser, nothing more. Even the bricks in the walls were exposed, letting cold air seep through and make him shiver while he tries to sleep.

 ~~Blue~~.

His brother of course got the bigger room. Bright blue walls, a dresser full of his favourite clothes, all his favourite toys from Fazbear and Friends. He _hates_ Fazbear and Friends. The toys are huge and soft, all stacked up neatly in the corner of his brother's room. They look so friendly, so happy. He doesn't think his brother deserves them.

 ~~Yellow~~.

He hates the pizzeria as well. It's full of smiling kids, all greedily chewing on greasy, tasteless food while watching the disturbing animatronics on the stage sing and guffaw loudly. The toys may have been cute but these were horrific, sickly yellow and beady eyed, gazing down as if they were alive and ready to pounce. Stupid really, but it gives him an idea while he's cleaning the plates covered in birthday cake icing and spit.

 ~~Pink~~.

Ripping the head off isn't difficult. Jumping out at his stupid baby of a brother isn't difficult. Ripping up his female foxy toy too isn't difficult. It's almost _irritating_ ; the effort is insignificant, and the payoff is almost undeserved. His brother crying on the floor is pathetic, he wants a better reaction than that. Why does he still feel..empty? Why can't he do anything right? All he wants is to make his stupid half-brother feel how he feels, but at the end of the day, when their father comes home, he knows which one of them will get a hug and which one'll get a pink mark and no supper if they answer back.

_"Why doesn't he hate you too?"_

He wants to smash every plate in the house; he wants to tear down the walls and collapse the roof and run away where they can't find him ever again. But no, the most he can do is scare his brother, and even that felt empty from the beginning. The tears and screams that rush through the rooms feel like the ones that constantly swarm inside his head, although he knows _he_  has to be quiet, or he'll miss his meals again.

 ~~White~~.

He doesn't see the nurses that hurry by him, blurry shapes either shouting or frantically looking at files; folders of information containing horrific details about head trauma. Blindingly bright walls.

**_Patient name: Henry Goldman._ **

**_Age: 10 years old._ **

**_Injury: Severe head wound, cracked skull, damage to pre-frontal cortex. Possibly sprained neck muscle._ **

He'd thrown the files to his side once his eyes started to blur. His stomach started to turn as he considered the possibility of their father walking through the door at any moment. A nurse touches his arm softly, asking if he's okay, but he pulls away, desperate to leave; to escape, to run away and never look back at the incident, at his house, at his family, at that blasted pizzeria, ever again.

 ~~Green~~.

Everyone he passes looks like his father, and every child he sees looks like his brother. He sees blood pouring from head wounds and through hair, dying it red; he sees angry eyes and weapons aimed towards him, fists and kicks and knives and guns, all pointing at his heart. He doubts it's even there anymore after what he's done.

_"I deserve it."_

It takes him five minutes to realise that he's walking towards the pizzeria, the bright, flickering sign entering his vision as he glances up, eyes still blurred, still bloodshot.

 ~~Orange~~.

His friends are inside, postures different from yesterday (or was it only an hour ago? A week ago? He can't remember anymore), all seeming hesitant. They ask him how he is, and he answers despite knowing that they don't care. He doesn't even know if he cares.

 _"I care about_ you _."_

The place is almost empty. The police left a while ago, although the sickening yellow tape is there. He tries not to vomit as he sees the sticky red blood on the floor and dribbling down the bear animatronic's chin. Now it truly looks like a beast, one that could eat them up whole. He knows he'd deserve it.

He can't go home, he just can't. He can't go to the hospital either. Between the crumbling bricks and the clinical white walls, he'd rather stay somewhere sickeningly saturated, no matter how much he hates it. He can't face his father or his brother. Hell, he doesn't even know if his brother is still _alive_. The concept terrifies him.

_"He's here."_

The fist clenching around his arm, coupled with the nervous glances of his friends, are what make his stomach drop. He sees a blur of purple before he falls, and he wishes that he doesn't recognise the voice.

\-------------------------------------------

_"I'm scared."_

He expects to wake up in pain, perhaps from a punch, or a slap, or possibly even from being burned again. He expects to wake up in his room, or in his house at the very least.

 ~~Red~~.

He doesn't expect to wake up covered in blood, sticky in his hands, and unknown in source. It covers his right side, splatters across his clothes and face, and dripping from his hair. He moves his hands slightly to wipe at his face and hisses as a stab of pain flies through his gut. He's afraid to look. He doesn't want to open his eyes anymore, he wants to pretend he's in his room, in the hospital, anywhere but here.

He feels a form next to him. Human? Cold. Definitely dead.

 _"I deserve this,"_ he thinks, _"I'm an awful brother, I'm an awful person, I...I'm scared, Henry...I don't wanna die, I wanna start again, I wanna play games with you and read with you, and, and...and I'll never hurt you ever again, I promise..."_

_~~Purple~~._

Against his will, his eyes shoot open, and he lets out a choked cry as the pain in his gut gets worse, becoming sharper and sending unpleasant shivers down his back. He begs, but no one listens. His friends are dead. His brother is probably dead. And he knows who this man in the purple coat holding the knife is. He wishes he doesn't.

 ~~Gold~~ _._

But he does, and he knows he deserves this. It doesn't make it hurt any less.

_"I can't hate you."_

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so...I wrote a Fnaf fanfiction. I don't even know anymore, but I promise I'll try to make my next fic happier (maybe).


End file.
